Destination Unknown
by gidget89
Summary: She was miraculously anal, even while drunk and about to participate in yet another night of debauchery with her most annoying employee.
1. How can you be so sure?

_A/N: New story guys! As usual, I'll be updating on Tuesdays. Many thanks go out to Alias424 - who is more than a beta or a sounding board - she's a friend. So thanks. Also I know some of you were expecting the prequel to the Perverse series - but FF FAILS AT LIFE and will not allow me to post it. If you'd like to read it in it's entirety - along with a few other stores I never posted here - the link to my LJ is in my profile. Enjoy - and review!_

* * *

_If I open my eyes, I'll hurl,_ was her first thought upon achieving consciousness. The blanketing dark of her eyelids was blissful as she inhaled deeply and tried to think fizzy, golden thoughts – like mental ginger ale. She tried to remember last night, but it was flying past much too quickly for her to grasp, fast-forward images of bars and cabs and hands. _Hands?_

She rolled over to ease her suddenly aching shoulder and cracked open one eye, slowly and painfully. She wasn't in her room. Or her house. Or her block – hell not even her neighbourhood. _Oh my god._ She shut her eyes quickly, blocking out the sight of a very asleep, very next to her in bed, very – she winced and ran a hand down her body quickly before choking a growl in the back of her throat – _naked_ in bed with House.

_House._

_Of all people._

She felt her stomach churn suddenly as her mind veered right and her body veered left. _What is wrong with me?_ She ran her hand over her face as she thought it, before pushing her hair back and moving to sit up. A sharp jerk had her crying out in pain before lying back again quickly.

He shifted next to her, and she froze next to him, her heart pounding much too painfully for her chest to hold, so it spilled over into her head. Craning her neck, she looked up to see her wrist, which was aching slightly. It was wrapped in a blue-striped satin – obviously a tie, probably given to him by Wilson, and probably the first time it had seen use. It was tied – in various complicated knots that she couldn't even wrap her mind around at the moment – to the bedpost.

"I hate you _so much_." It was almost a scream, but the anger and frustration lowered it into growl-like proportions.

"That's not what you said last night." His smile was smug, or she assumed it was because she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at that tie and its blue, tan, brown, navy pattern as if her stare alone could ignite its cheap polyester-mix threads until they disappeared in a puff of smoke. When that plan failed, she closed her eyes immediately and tried to will the situation away. _He will not be there. I am home. I am not in Gregory House's bed. I am not ALLOWED in Gregory House's bed. I forbid it._

Upon opening her eyes, she saw failure, in the shape of color-coordinated pinstripe. Sighing, she flopped her head back on the pillow and shifted so she was flat on her back – and definitely not looking at him, or his smile, or how bright his eyes got when he was playing with her, like a cat playing with a mouse before a meal. Her free hand reached across to the tie, her fingers attempting to pick at the knots to no avail. Cool airbrushed against her skin, and she shivered as he chuckled.

"What? No saucy comeback? No threats of clinic or firing raining down upon my head from the depths?" He was poking her deliberately, she knew – apparently House did not fear death in the mornings. She glanced down, noticing her exposed breasts and she jerked her hands away from the cheap satin and snatched the bed sheet. She huffed and crossed her one arm over her chest, pinning the sheet high. "I saw them last night you know. About this big and nice and weighty – a real handful."

"As soon as you untie me, I am going to kill you." Her voice was quiet and perfectly serious, and his laugh echoed in her head painfully. She winced and lay there, perfectly still. Believe her or not – she was already planning it. _If I push him down – oh! __or__ kick him right in the _–_ go to the kitchen, grab a steak knife – they always look more convincing as an impulse weapon – I wonder if House has scissors? – come back and stab him to death. Fifteen or sixteen times so I look out of my mind. Yeah._

"It was the only way I'd be sure you wouldn't sneak out like every other time." He was quieter, and it scared her, causing her stomach to drop quickly, as its contents lifted and she swallowed painfully. Every other time. _Right._ Her stomach suddenly clenched, and she squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled slowly. Unfortunately for her, this wasn't the first time in recent months that she had woken up here. Too many nights of after work drinks and more drinks and fuzzy warm thoughts of how his hand against her back made her tingle. It was a relief, to let go of the control – just every now and again – let go and allow him to slip in through the sprung gate. She always woke up with a headache and regret lining her mouth like a thick paste.

This was the first time she had had to deal with it though. It really wasn't very beneficial to her hangover, so she tried to ignore his persuasive voice, soft in her ear. "You can't keep doing this Cuddy. Getting drunk and taking advantage of me, I'm just a poor cripple." His voice switched mid-stream to sharper and more acidic tones, and she heaved a sigh of relief at the appearance of his usual self.

"Untie me, House," she stated in the most commanding, administrative tone she could muster. Judging by the grin she saw out of the corner of her eye, it was a pathetic attempt at best.

"Make me." His hand reached across the much-too-short distance between them, and she felt it brush her hip before she smacked it with her free hand. He sighed and made a second attempt, higher this time, and the feeling of his hand brushing against the sensitive flesh of her breasts made her squirm for a nanosecond before she smacked his hand harder. Her fingers stung when she pulled back, and he hissed. "Knew I should have tied both hands. But I figured you would have woken up. Of course, a Mac truck couldn't have woken you last night – it was very lovely, all moans and liquids one minute and then snores and drooling the next."

She smacked him again, just for good measure, and he was laughing when she finally turned her glare on him. His hair stuck out, and his beard was a touch thicker than usual. He looked – _rumpled_ – annoying. "You are a pig. And you wouldn't have been subjected to it if you hadn't _tied me up, jackass_!" She rose upward as she yelled, waving her arm as her voice rose with her body. His smile widened as his eyes drifted downward, almost taking a leisurely path as they slipped past her throat and moved across her clavicle before arriving further down. Her skin flushed, and she cursed mentally as she snatched the sheet back up. "I hate you," she repeated, and House just smirked as he stretched out onto his back before wincing, his hand shooting down to grasp his thigh.

She saw his pills before he did – on her side of the bed, for some odd reason – and snatched them in her free hand, dropping the sheet to do so. She didn't care – it was survival of the fittest now, and she had to – _had to_ – leave this apartment unscathed. She wrapped her fist around them and shoved them behind her, slightly under the pillow as she sat on them. He watched and frowned, holding out a hand. "Give me my pills."

"Untie me," she responded promptly, and he dropped his head with a groan before glaring at her.

"I _need_ those pills Cuddy, I'm in _pain_ – "

"Maybe you should stop having random one night stands then – can't be easy on you." She sounded almost sympathetic, but the mocking pout she had on demolished any pretence of understanding.

"Give me the god-damned pills, Cuddy!" He was struggling into a sitting position now, and the pain was showing on his face. She felt a small tug of sympathy, but she pulled against her own restraints, stretching the tie until it bit into her skin.

"Untie me and I'll give you the pills." She spoke rationally, trying to keep her voice calm and maintain eye contact.

"I could just take them," he ground out as he rubbed a hand along his thigh and winced.

"Oh yeah, sure you could. I could take you one handed – literally," she scoffed, and he sighed in defeat.

"You have to swear – no tricks. I untie you and you give me the pills, and no one dies." His voice was serious and she would have laughed at the absurdity of the negotiations alone, but her wrist hurt as the cheap material cut into it.

"Done," she said promptly, and he slowly moved over, his fingers shaking as he untied the knots. She sighed, pulling her hand off the bottle and twisting the white cap off expertly. She slid two pills out across her palm and her fingers wrapped around them awkwardly as she replaced the cap. Pulling her hand out from under the pillow, she opened her clammy palm to reveal the two pills. He looked up from his fumbling in surprise and she glared. "Just two. I still have the bottle so don't even think about stopping untying me. I just... don't think you can do it without them."

He nodded solemnly and leaned forward. She pulled back in surprise as he licked the pills from her skin, dry-swallowing them quickly. She shivered, cursing him as he smiled briefly. His hands kept on untying nimbly, and she glared, realizing he wasn't in nearly as much pain as he had pretended. "Bastard," she breathed out, and he grinned as her wrist sprung free and she pulled it into her chest, cradling it slightly. She jumped off the bed quickly, not caring about her lack of clothes as she scanned for them. Spying her skirt, she pulled it on, not bothering to look for a bra, or underwear, or even her shirt. She grabbed his tee shirt from the floor by the door and tugged it on.

"Hey! That's one of my – "

"A complete, _matching_ set of my underwear for a shirt, House," she ground out and he shut up quickly. She wrenched open the door and fled to the hall. Her shoes and purse were right by the door – she was miraculously anal, even while drunk and about to participate in yet _another _night of debauchery with her most annoying employee. She shoved her feet clumsily into the heels, her sweaty skin sticking to the inside of the shoes, and snatched her purse.

"What no tender kiss goodbye? Promises of seeing me soon?" House's lazy voice issued from behind her, and she glared.

"Goodbye. I'll see you at work. All day. In the clinic. And if you even _mention_ this to me – or anyone else ever again, I will make your life a living hell," she ground out evenly, before wrenching the door open and stalking through it. She didn't bother closing it as she sailed down the hall, the carpet muffling her angry steps.

"You know – keep up all these special moments and I may think you still love me," he mocked her as he followed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. She turned at the outer door, with one hand holding it open slightly.

"I never loved you," she said as she pushed the door open and let the too-bright sunshine in, causing her to wince heavily.

"Sure – "

She didn't wait for the rest of what was sure to be yet another scintillating House comeback, letting the door close on his voice as she stumbled down the three steps to the street, while she shoved her hand in her purse, digging for her sunglasses and her cell phone. She shoved the sunglasses on with obvious relief, as she turned left and walked blindly – not taking the chance House would follow her outside as she called for a cab.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she dialled quickly – requesting a cab five blocks from his place. When she dropped the phone back in her purse, she ignored the pain in her head and the aching of her feet as she stalked down the uneven pavement.

_The walk of shame._ The irony was not lost on her as she shrugged. She didn't know anyone in House's neighbourhood – and escape was more essential than modesty. She berated herself as she walked, wondering what in the hell was wrong with her.

She had never meant for House to become that guy. That ex you never stopped thinking about, not really – no matter how much you tried. It was her bad luck that said ex barrelled back into her life. It was his that she couldn't seem to let him go, but she wasn't stupid enough to keep him either.

She hated him. And loved him. At the moment though – she was royally pissed at him. By doing what he had done this morning – he had all but declared his dissatisfaction with the status quo. He wanted to rock the boat, change the equilibrium and she couldn't. Wouldn't.

And she definitely wouldn't let him.


	2. It Can't Be That Easy

A/N: Happy Tuesday y'all! As usual, many thanks to Alias - who keeps me sane. And beats my muse into submission for me - so nice to not have to do the dirty work, lol. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy!" House's voice was painfully loud and cheerful as he and Wilson met up with her in the hospital parking lot.

"Good morning, Dr. House," she snapped back – her tone irritated. She nodded at Wilson who was smiling genially. "Wilson."

They had come to the front doors, where House slid to a halt and looked expectantly from her to the door. She narrowed her eyes but sighed and pulled the door open just as Wilson tried to take it from her. "No, no Lisa, I've got it."

She smiled genuinely in his direction before glaring at House over her shoulder. "Thank you." She walked through the door, trying to speed her steps, but House was remarkably nimble for a disabled man, and he was hot on her tail as she entered the clinic. Wilson trailed behind naturally, since where House went, he followed.

She slowed down in front of her office doors, and he crashed into her purposefully – his hand grazing her hips as his groin pushed forward into her backside. She closed her eyes for just a second – _oh god_ – before she turned and shoved him back, but kept an iron-clad grip on his arm. "Why are you following me?"

"You told me this morning when you left my place that I had clinic duty all day." House spoke loudly and her fingers tightened into a vice-like grip as she glared at him and flung open her office door behind her. She jerked him into it; Wilson laughing at what he thought was a joke as he followed. Slamming the door behind her, she turned on her heel to glare at the two men standing there.

"God has got to be punishing me," she muttered as she strode behind her desk, unbuttoning her suit coat as she did so. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me – clinic all day today. Remember? You were wearing – "

"Shut up, House." She glared at him and sighed before sinking gracefully into her chair. House simply moved closer to the desk edge, leaning over her and leering. "Fine. You do that then. Out there. In the clinic." She spoke slowly and House responded by sitting down in her visitor's chair and bringing his cane in front of him to rest his chin on.

"Oh come on – how long has it been since we all just talked. We're all friends aren't we?" House spoke only half-mockingly and she rolled her eyes while Wilson stared in confusion. "We should grab lunch today – since it's just such a bright, sunny day, maybe eat outside."

"What did you _take_ this morning, House?" Wilson sighed and shook his head before sharing a look with her.

"Just some good old fashioned TLC," House answered honestly and Wilson rolled his eyes as he too sat in the other chair. _Great, they'll never leave now._

"House, get in the damn clinic and see patients. Wilson, go..." She faltered and House sat forward helpfully.

"I'd go with 'hold dying people's hands,' myself. Just a suggestion."

"I'm sure you have patients to see," she substituted in a lower tone as House snorted across from her.

"Oh please. Do you realize how much time he wastes with me in a day?" House ignored Wilson's glare, and she looked from Wilson back to him. He edged forward and she mirrored his body language, inching her elbows forward across her ink blotter.

"House." She pitched her voice lower deliberately, leaning forward so he did too, his eyes not leaving her cleavage. "Go to work. _Now_!" His eyes jerked up to meet hers, tracking across her face as he analyzed every detail. His eyes darkened for a flash before brightening again, and she felt a hum in response, deep within her. Squirming uncomfortably in her chair, she watched him smile knowingly before pulling back and nodding to an oblivious Wilson. They stood simultaneously, and she refused to look up at them.

When they walked toward the door, she let go of the breath she had been holding, letting it hiss through her teeth as she smiled tensely at Wilson who was waving an awkward goodbye as they walked out of sight.

_I need coffee. __Now._ She pressed the intercom for her assistant as she lay her forehead against the desk and sighed, closing her eyes. When her assistant answered, she sent him for coffee – telling him the way she liked it, because she couldn't remember exactly how long he had been here.

It was a bad sign, she thought, that she was wishing for a shot of whiskey in that coffee. Lifting her head with a grimace, she jerked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle. She dry-swallowed two aspirin before smiling grimly to herself. "Gonna be a _great_ day."

* * *

If she had her way, she would run in her four-inch heels – run through the inevitable pain, blisters, and walk with a limp for days afterward – but at least she wouldn't be striding toward a hall from which smoke currently billowed and making mental notes to Netflix that crime scene show (whichever one, it didn't really matter) for tips and tricks on how to get away with murder. She was fairly certain she could keep a notebook of the random ideas of ways to kill House that drifted across her mind at various points in the day.

_But that would be evidence._

So instead, she gritted her teeth as the acrid smell of metallic smoke stung her eyes and nose, and plunged into the room. She walked calmly and dodged the firemen attempting to exit, passed the hysterical wife of the patient who had been in here when it had happened, ignored Wilson's spluttering explanation and grabbed House's tweed coat in one hand. She didn't speak, didn't wait to see if he had time to react – or even had even footing – she simply dragged him out. Past Wilson, who reached out to stop them ineffectually, past the wife who didn't look up from her cries that Chase was awkwardly attempting to soothe, past the fire chief who wanted confirmation that they could go and had paperwork for her to fill out. She kept a too-tight grip on his jacket as she held her breath and blinked back tears that threatened to spill from the irritation of the smoke.

She didn't make it to her office. She pulled him into the first empty room she could find – a patient's room two corridors and five doors over. As soon as they entered, she dropped her hand, breathing raggedly and closing the blinds. He remained unnaturally still in the center of room – watching her like an animal who just realized that the blur in front of it was really a lion about to eat it. Her stomach growled, and she turned to face him with a smile.

She _had_ to smile, because if she didn't laugh about this – about House once again almost killing a patient because of his refusal to interact with them or take a proper history – if she didn't laugh, well, she'd kill him.

"So." He dragged the word out slowly as he rocked back on his heels – apparently the rat thought he had an escape plan – "Are we gonna make out now? Because while I'm all for a quickie at work – you naughty thing – I just don't know how I feel about you not being drunk. Kinda kills the mood." _Or he was just an idiot._

She took a deep breath before looking at him, with that eerie half empty smile still pinned on her face. "You didn't take a history. Or an x-ray. You didn't follow the rules that, of course, never ever apply to_ you_ – and as a result, a man had metal bolts _ripped _out of his _hip_ and is currently in emergency surgery, because you are an idiot." Her smile didn't waver, and she delivered all of this on a half laugh – making her sound disbelieving, and maybe she was. Because this couldn't be happening. House was not an idiot – not normally.

"He and his wife lied to us – "

"Everyone lies. You should have assumed he was lying and taken all precautions," she snapped, the smile finally sliding away on the crest of a giant tsunami of anger that came crashing down around her.

"I didn't have time! I had to confirm the – "

"He may die anyway! Because you thought you knew everything and you didn't! Rules are there for a reason, House. Regulations," she laughed in exasperation as she threw her arms up and stalked toward him, "actually serve a purpose other than making _your_ life difficult." She was within inches of him now as her voice rose and fell in her ears. She felt like she wasn't even there – not really, because if she was – she wouldn't be ignoring the danger signs, that acid burning in the back of her throat, her thundering heartbeat, or the final flush of anger – screaming in color to back away.

"You're right, and I'm sorry." His words surprised her so much she tripped. Actually physically tripped and fell into him. His arms steadied her, and she righted herself, one hand on his shoulder as she stared at him in silence. His expression was serious, and she searched his face for the smallest sign – any of his tells, like the sheen of amusement barely detectable in his eyes or the way he would avoid her gaze.

"What?" She sounded confused, her voice echoing in her own ears at a sluggish rate. She couldn't seem to move properly or quickly enough, and he stood there, self-assured with one hand on her hip and the other on her elbow – looking for all the world as if he were the appointed tour guide of this suddenly unfamiliar terrain. She glanced around – hadn't this seemed all too familiar when they had entered the room? Where had they gone off track?

"I'm sorry. I'll go apologize to his wife – and explain."

"No!" She was horrified and he frowned down at her.

"You always say you want me to apologize."

"Yes. When I know you won't _actually _do it. Sending you in to apologize to someone who could sue the hell out of us is like sending Cameron into an orphanage – it's a bad idea." His hand was still on her hip, burning its way molecule by molecule into her skin. The weight of it was disturbingly normal and comfortable in a way it shouldn't have been.

Like an old film, dragging before snapping into regular playback – she snapped back into herself, pushing a hand against his chest as she stepped away. And one more step – _make it two__, just to be sure_. Fresh air filled her lungs and she felt dizzy as the room slid back into focus – a soft click, and the blue shadows weren't quite so overpowering.

"It's never that easy with you." She finally spoke, once her skin had cooled and she could no longer feel the weight of his hands on her anywhere. "What's the catch?"

"I can't admit when I'm wrong?" He held out his arms and scoffed as she rolled her eyes.

"No," she shot back quickly, and he fell silent. "No, never – not once in twenty years have you ever admitted you were wrong." _And I would know._ She shied away from the thought – far more bitter than she had any right to be.

"I'm turning over a new leaf." He spread his hands in a placating gesture before hopping up on the bed and stretching his legs out. He smiled at her, and she shook her head to dislodge the sudden flash of a wolf on the bed – waiting patiently to convince the stupid little girl that he really was Grandma, so he could have a little taste.

"You don't change. You didn't change after college, you didn't change after almost dying – _twice _– and you expect me to buy that suddenly you've seen the light because it's what? Thursday?" She edged closer to the bed as she spoke – _stupid Red Riding Hood – _and he smiled lazily at the sight.

"Yes." He nodded simply and she shook her head – laughing. Or was that choking – she couldn't quite tell, but she was making some type of awkward noise. He seemed entirely too comfortable. _She_ was supposed to be punishing _him._

"I'm adding another four hundred hours to your clinic duty this year." She said it sullenly, her arms crossed – practically daring him to argue as she watched him. Four hundred hours was a ridiculously high amount – the last time he broke the MRI it hadn't been half that. He nodded calmly, his hands perfectly still as they clasped his cane loosely across his lap. "Okay, what in the hell are you doing?" She finally sat on the side of the bed, staring at him incredulously.

"Nothing." He was all innocence, meeting her eyes and not looking away. The room seemed to get quieter as they stared at each other, engaged in a silent struggle. She would not let him have his way – even if she didn't know exactly what his way entailed. Nothing with him was ever what it seemed, and she was wary from experience.

"I will find out." She spoke with a false sense of confidence, and he shocked her into silence for the second time in as many minutes when he reached one hand out, placing it gently over her own on the bed. _Gently_. Like any of this wasn't bizarre enough – if she couldn't still smell the smoke, she would have pinched herself at any point now – anything to free her from this nightmare. _Of course only I would have nightmares about House being nice._ She made another mental note to make an appointment with her therapist – who she'd been avoiding since he had advised her to get a new job and a fresh start.

"I'm just trying to do the right thing here, Cuddy." He was leaning forward now, and she felt a slight sweat break out across her skin. She pulled back, but his hand held hers – more tightly now – and she blinked down at their hands in confusion.

"Stop it," she finally hissed and he blinked across at her.

"Stop what?"

"I don't get what your issue is, House – but let me make myself perfectly clear – anything that _may_ have happened in the past does not come into play here. Ever. And it won't – " _can'__t _"– be happening again, so you need to just stop whatever the hell it is you're doing. You're scaring me." She finally managed to yank her hand from under his, the momentum almost making her fall off the edge of the bed, and she glared at him accusingly.

"What? You did it." He shrugged and swung his legs over the edge as he slid to the floor, bracing one arm next to her as he reached across the bed for his cane. "And not everything is about _you_, Cuddy. Maybe I've had a sudden epiphany after too many meaningless one night stands devoid of emotion." He was leaning close into her personal space – he liked to watch as the words hit their target, lancing through her skin and imploding upon impact. She swallowed heavily as she stared up at him, refusing to back down.

The truth hurt, and she knew it more than most. It was also House's favourite weapon in his arsenal, because nothing else stood up against it. He knew he had caused damage – she could tell by the gleam in his eyes as he watched – like a small boy pulling the wings off flies – with fascination. "Great." She spoke with forced cheer as she hopped off of the bed, forcing him to back up or get stepped on. "You can actually do paperwork and clinic hours and be a semi-functional human being searching for something more meaningful." She looked at him with a small triumphant smile – because even when losing, and leaving the field with a trail of crimson smearing after you, you didn't admit defeat. If there was one rule written in stone through the years between them, it was never surrender. She stepped in closer to him, looking up at him with a sad expression – half sympathy and half anticipation. "And you can be just as miserable as the rest of us doing it." She strode past him quickly – faster than he could stop and she opened the door, looking back as she paused. "Four hundred hours House. And for the love of – well, _whatever_ it is you love – " her tone implied that even the thought of it seemed unbelievable. "Save that man's life so we don't get sued. Again."

She left before he could reply, walking back into the still hazy hallway as her mind tried to weigh the pros and cons of the argument in an attempt to crown a winner. She took another deep breath, choking slightly on the smoke as she wondered if it had even been a battle to begin with, or just more of their ritual mating dance – they hurled insults and pheromones like compliments and caresses.

She wondered how long he could actually maintain this new improved demeanour. And why exactly she was looking forward to his inevitable failure.


	3. Can't Keep My Hands Off You

A/N: Happy Tuesday all! Many hugs to Alias for beta-ing this. She's the peanut butter to my jelly, y'all. hugs

* * *

_Six months ago_

If she had to write a list of the worst days of her life – she was fairly certain today would be in the top ten. It was what had kept her at work until well past nine that evening, what had driven her to the liquor cabinet as soon as she had arrived home, and, two bottles of red wine later – what had made her call a cab and crawl into it, resting her head against the greasy windowpane and wondering if she could make it all the way there without throwing up or passing out.

Miraculously, she did – stumbling up the steps and sliding down along the wall of his hall as her heels caught in the carpeting and she lurched forward, laughing and cursing at the same time. His door was open before she got there, and he watched in amusement as she continued slowly and unsteadily toward him.

"Did you forget your address again?" His voice was teasing – and she blinked in the too-bright lights of the hall as she finally reached his door and fell against the frame – and him.

"No. And that was one time, fifty years ago. It was campus housing – everything looks the same – " Her voice was surprisingly strong and steady, and he looked down at her almost fondly.

"Twenty years ago at best – "

"Either way, nothing either of us wants to be boasting about. I came here," she stated the obvious and he nodded solemnly.

"I noticed." He kicked the door shut and his hand was grasping her arm, because despite her perfectly clear voice, she just couldn't seem to get her feet to move in the sequence required, and he half dragged her down the hall to his bedroom. He pushed her on the bed, not so gently, and she fell, laughing up at him. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

She kicked off her shoes before sitting up and moving forward to the edge of the bed. Lying down was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. When the world righted, catching up with her sudden movement, she focused her eyes on the hem of his tee shirt – stretched out with a stain on the left side. "Do you ever think about that?" Her words were softer now – as she put a hand on his left leg to steady herself – and they blurred together just slightly.

"What?" Her hand was sliding along the fabric of his jeans now – stiff and rough under her palm and she felt a tension flood her stomach as she craned her neck up to meet his eyes.

"College," she breathed out, and her hand slipped to his inner thigh. His hand shot out, grabbing hers as he laughed slightly.

"Cuddy…."

"I do." Her voice was tripping out of her lips, falling out quickly as her mind attempted to stop it. "I shouldn't and it was years ago but it crosses my mind at the oddest times, in the shower – or when I'm with another – " She halted suddenly and he groaned above her as her hands pressed upward, pausing a moment as her mind tried to catch up with them. His skin practically pulsed under hers and she could _feel_ it.

Caution screamed in her ears for a moment as an itemized list of reasons she shouldn't be here (with footers and sub-sections and addendums) blurred through her mind. His hand fell against her shoulder as he leaned in toward her involuntarily and the movement made her react – her hands moving up to slip under his faded shirt. When her fingers brushed against the soft skin above his waist, they both shivered, she thought. His stomach clenched under her hands and she smiled as her blood sang through her veins in a pleasant hum.

"This is a mistake." His voice was rougher as her greedy finger crept down to his waistband, unbuttoning it and slipping her hand in deftly. She was well-practiced, she giggled slightly as his hands gripped her shoulders tightly.

"Of course it is. Isn't everything we do a mistake?"

"Good point." His voice hitched and her hands slid up until she could grip his shoulders and pull him towards her.

When his mouth met hers, it was a battle of epic proportions – all tongues and teeth – nips and bites and moans. She couldn't breathe. _I don't want to._She was drunk – drunk enough to want to sweat the stain of the day off in the only way she would truly enjoy, drunk enough to come here and loosen the iron grip she kept on herself. He was the only person she trusted enough to come to. But not so drunk that she thought she would be guilt-free the next day. Alcohol came with a hangover, and House came with regret. Everything had its price.

"You'll regret this." His voice was muffled against her bare skin as his lips traced along her ribs, and she blinked – _when exactly did I take my shirt off? – _pulling on him until his face was close to hers and she could breathe him in while she looked at his face and tried to tread water as this unknown emotion flooded her chest, choking her.

"I won't be here to regret it." Her hands drifted down, and he closed his eyes for a moment, resting his forehead against hers, his breath tickling her neck.

"Free sex and I don't even have to face you in the morning. When did you become the perfect woman?"

"Right around the time I became unattainable. Now shut up."

* * *

"You cannot be serious, Cuddy."

"Yes, I can. See? This is my serious face." She pointed at her chin as she pouted at him, and he sat down with a huff on the sofa next to her.

"I'm not doing it," he stated simply, and she smiled across at him pleasantly. After much thought and days of self-depreciation, she had come to a conclusion. Even enemies had a relationship of sorts with each other. She and House had a relationship. They also had an underground war they'd been fighting for years – she would win. By any means possible.

It had occurred to her when she woke up from another dream about the fire – only in her nightmares it spread, and her hospital was gone. House was fully ready to employ whatever tactics he needed. She hadn't been. Until now. "Fine." Her voice was just as pleasant as her smile, and he frowned at her in confusion. "I'll be docking half your check –for the next fifty years - to pay for the MRI you broke."

"You can't do that!" he objected and she allowed her smile to grow, leaning forward and meeting his eyes.

"Actually – I can. It's one of the perks of the job, and you know me, House. I'm all about the perks." He glared for a moment before shifting gears. It was almost frightening – not the fact that he was adapting, because she had expected that – that she could actually see it in his eyes, like glimpsing the inner gears of a clock as they turned. He moved in closer to her, inching into her personal space. But his plan was an old, well-used one, and she was finally going to call him on it.

"I hate kids."

"Funny, they don't hate you – half the time I see you with a kid for a patient, they look happier than your last three patients combined." She pointed this out idly, leaning further in until her breasts were brushing his arm, and he looked over in surprise.

"Doesn't matter – I'm not doing a paediatrics clinic." His voice was a grumble, and she laughed at his words. It had been a particularly bright idea she had had two nights ago while looking over the PR files – a peds clinic – free naturally – generated a lot of good press. Good press was always needed, and she had been able to get the idea approved by the board.

"That's sad. Tell me – how exactly will you be affording extra pain meds that aren't covered by your plan? Just curious."

"You cannot garnish my wages!" He insisted again, edging away from her as she watched in triumph. A small triumph, of course – but every little bit counted with him.

"Sadly... I can. You know, House – I don't think I've ever really proven what I can do to you."

"You're not going to fire me." He was boasting now. She grinned, shaking her head.

"No. I'm not." She moved that extra half an inch closer and dropped her voice as she spoke. "But I will make you life a living hell –"

"You've said that before." he said in a bored tone, and she felt a small surge of anger – _anger, yes. __Anger.__ –_ deep within her as she looked up at him.

"I wasn't trying then," she pointed out. "I can cut your wages, pull your authorization until you can't so much as go take a piss without my approval." He watched her calculatingly for a moment before he switched tactics again, and leaned in to meet her.

"Go ahead." His voice was soft, but he was close enough for his breath to stir the ends of her hair and she shivered at the sound. "I can play too though, Cuddy – and I've got an awful lot of things I can do to you." She felt her skin quiver at his words – the sensation creeping across her thighs until it met in the middle.

"Good – I look forward to it." It was stupid – to call him on it – but she was so tired of whatever game they were playing now. It was predictable – and it bored her. And she was feeling just a little bit destructive today – reckless and uncaring as she pushed them both over to the edge of the line they never crossed.

His hand was on her leg suddenly, moving across her knee and trailing up her inner thigh teasingly. "You sure? Because there is that one video – "

"You'd never give that up, House – what would you use to jack – "

"Oh, copies can be made, Cuddy." His voice was like a hum of electricity across her skin and she met his gaze. His eyes were intent – sharpened on her in a way they had never been before – she had taken the game to a whole new level and his interest was piqued. Her face flushed, and she wanted to shake her head to clear it – but that would be a sign of weakness, and he would pounce on it. _Plus his hand could go just a little bit higher..._

"You sure you want to – " She paused as her own hand traced across his chest and drifted down. "– give that up?"

"Do you want me to?" His voice was flooded with amusement now, and she watched as he took in her pink skin and darkened eyes. "Maybe you do. Naughty Cuddy."

"You can't win." Her hand brushed across his groin as she taunted him, and his hand shot out, grasping hers. She stilled and met his suddenly serious eyes.

"If I lose, I win." He spoke seriously, his fingers tracing little unseen circles along her carpals before trailing down to her ulna. She shivered in the already too-warm air and yanked her hand back quickly. House smiled and stood, gripping his cane tightly as she glared up at him. "But we both know you'll never win anyway, Cuddy." He shifted and moved swiftly toward the door before grinning over his shoulder triumphantly. "That's okay though, because I love to watch you try."

"Clinic, House – I am serious – " She let out a frustrated breath since the door had shut on her words and he hurriedly limped away from her office and the Clinic.

"I hate him," she muttered into the palm of her hand, trying to ignore the way her skin still tingled where he had touched her. "Dammit."

* * *

She was just opening a bottle of water by her fridge when a knock echoed on her door. She frowned, glancing at the clock. It was past ten – and she had just stepped out of the shower after spending an hour on her treadmill trying to run this feeling out. It had been squirming inside her – a slight ache that had been there all day. And was still there now, despite her best efforts to sweat it out.

She padded down the hall, placing one hand on the knob as she peered through the peephole and cursed. Turning around, she leaned against the door and spoke loudly so the heavy wood wouldn't muffle her voice. "Go away."

"Well there goes your option to pretend you're not at home." The door made a slight creaking sound, and she knew he had leaned against it as well.

"Except for the part where you are a stalker and probably would have checked my windows." She turned suddenly, yanking the door open and stepping back – and taking a childish glee in seeing him sprawled out against her foyer floor.

"God damn it, Cuddy!" He was wincing, and she shrugged, unrepentant. She folded her arms and glared down at him with an arched brow. "Actually, thanks. That's a nice nightie, by the way – going commando tonight, are we?"

She jumped back at his words, tugging at her nightgown hem and cursing inwardly. "Get up," she commanded, and he held out a hand, forcing her to take it and pull him up. He shot up a bit too quickly though, landing against her with an exhaled breath.

She pushed him off quickly, brushing herself off and ignoring how his hand had accidentally-on-purpose slid just under her hemline. _Because I mind, really._ She slapped his hands before turning and shutting the door– granted it was late, but not so late her neighbours wouldn't notice.

"Sorry," he apologized insincerely, and she glared at him. "Too much momentum. Thank goodness for the airbags, I could have hurt myself!"

"What do you want?" She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, even while her heart was pounding – _Mmm, pounding. God, stop it!_ – in her ears so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. Or smell her fear – or something.

"I was in the neighbourhood – walking by the back window – and noticed the open bottle of wine. Figured I'd save you the cab fare."

"My back window is in my back yard," she pointed out, knowing it didn't make a difference anyway.

"Yes, and your bedroom window is on the side. You should have a path. Who knows what I could have tripped on." He stepped in closer to her, his eyes focusing on hers until all she could see was blue. "And you're not drunk."

"You're late – that bottle was from two nights ago." She sighed, rolling her neck to try to ease the sudden tension there. "Sorry."

"That's okay." He moved back, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on her coat tree. She stared, open-mouthed, making no attempt to stop him – _you don't want to –_ as he headed toward her kitchen, his cane thumping loudly in the silence. She didn't move, just closed her eyes and looked unseeingly up at the ceiling as she listened to him rummage through her cupboards. A moment later his head stuck around the doorway. "Do you have any _real_ food in here?"

"House – " she started, but he had disappeared again so she moved quickly down the hall. "House," she repeated, standing in her kitchen door while he leaned down into her fridge.

"Not even any beer – jeez, Cuddy, I thought you were a good hostess." He pulled back with another bottle of water, opening it as he spoke.

"You can't be here." She wondered if her voice sounded as weak to him as it did to her. He lowered the water bottle to her counter, placing it next to hers, before moving across the room until he was standing within inches of her.

"Why? Are there rules? You must have a blood alcohol level of point oh five and it has to be my place?"

"Yes," she snapped finally, just as his hand brushed against her shoulder, his fingers quickly traveling up to her neck as she sighed and tilted her head back.

"Because it seems to me like you don't actually need to be drunk – " He was mumbling against her throat as he pressed his lips there. Against her better judgement, her hands came up around his back, brushing against the soft cotton of his shirt. Her movements were erratic, because while one part of her was aching and straining to allow this – _God yes, please! –_ another part was reminding her of why this was a bad idea. Item number one – no escape route. And House would stay just to piss her off, she knew. Item number two was that if she allowed this once, he would be in control from then on. She bit back a moan as his hands found her breasts, brushing against them through the fabric. Her knees buckled slightly, and he backed her up into the wall without missing a beat.

"God," she hissed out as his mouth closed over one nipple, soaking the filmy fabric of her nightgown and igniting a burning ache within her. Her hands grasped at his shirt fabric, clutching and releasing frantically. Item three – her hands slipped under the worn cotton, stroking up his back as she arched her hips forward into his, creating an arch in her back as he bent over her. Item three – she was having difficulty thinking, and when one of his hands brushed against her ass, pulling her closer as his hips rocked into her she let out a gasp. Item three – _fuck it_ – her fingers were fumbling at his belt and he smiled just before his mouth claimed hers. His breath was hot in her mouth – feeding oxygen to the raging inferno that she couldn't seem to control.

"House..." Her voice was panting when she broke away, her hands pushing against his waistband. "Bed." They began to move down the hall in halting steps, pausing for every stroke of hands on skin and sharp intake of breath.

"See, Cuddy?" His voice was breathless as she pushed him back on her bed before crawling up beside him, her hands eager and his flesh willing. "Win/win."

"This is a break – not surrender," she mumbled before overtaking his mouth with hers, if only to shut him up for the moment.

"Either way…." His voice was muffled as his mouth travelled down her throat teasingly, and his hands followed a similar path, farther south.

_I win_.


	4. Could Get Ugly

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys - they are appreciated. My soul belongs to Alias - who pokes my muse wth sharp sticks to keep it working and always has something to flail over each time she beta's - which I appreciate more than she knows. Enjoy!

* * *

"So I always knew you were a love 'em and leave 'em type but this is taking it all to a new extreme, don't you think, Dr. Cuddy?" She flinched – at his words, or the incredibly loud tone of voice, she wasn't sure. He had sidled stealthily up to her as she stood at the front desk signing off on release forms. No less than five nurses stilled mid-movement, like someone had hit a giant pause button in the middle of a scene and all movement around her had stuttered to a standstill.

"Can't you be off bugging Wilson or harassing a patient somewhere?" Her voice was calm, but forced – with wire traps ready to spring lining the edge of her control.

"Harassing you is so much more fun and rewarding though. I mean the ass alone – " She snapped the file she had just signed onto the counter and turned to him, one elbow still on the counter for support as she leaned with a lazy smile.

"If the ass is all you're in it for, you could have just looked and not spoken. What do you want?" She pushed away as she spoke, propelling herself past him as if the movement alone could put distance between her thoughts and his presence there. He refused to cooperate, dogging her steps all the way through the clinic and her outer office.

"Well, I woke up alone – again – as I normally do – and I happened upon the most interesting drawer in your spare bedroom closet – " His voice was obnoxious and she halted abruptly, turning with anger in her eyes. _Thank God we're in my office_ –

"And what? Jealous?" she ground out as his laughter echoed off the walls around them.

"Of course not – but if you ever want to include your little cache of toys, I just thought you'd like to know I'm more than open to it. I'm being considerate." Keeping the smile glued to her face as he taunted her was difficult – but she would never show him just how much effort it required. Because then he would know he was getting to her. And then he would win.

"That's great – good to know for all those times you'll never ever be in my bed again." Her smile remained in place as her voice lowered and he leaned forward to hear her better. His eyes met hers for a moment – mischief lighting them up from pale blue to a deeper aqua – and he quirked a brow at her.

"That's what you always say – yet here we are, practically in a relationship. You know, I think some married people have sex less than we do – "

"Is that a proposal?" she asked with a straight face, almost laughing when he pulled back slightly. "Because you'd have to convert."

He was like a chameleon – constantly adapting to each new level, even if it took a few seconds, so he was already moving closer and placing a gentle hand at her elbow. It was almost an embrace, and she stilled nervously – her eyes darting to the glass doors of her office. "I would do anything for you." His face was serious – his eyes levelled on her own and his voice dripping with sincerity that she chose to hear as sarcasm.

"And they say love doesn't change people." Her voice was breathy – possibly from climbing higher and higher in this constant game of one-upmanship they were continually locked into. They had to be somewhere past the stratosphere at this point – _how c__an__ we even breathe?_

His hand tightened for a fraction of a second, and he leaned forward as he inhaled deeply. She shivered, wondering how in the hell he could touch her and make it so hard for her to concentrate. She didn't step back though – because any attempt to back down would be an automatic surrender. She swallowed before deciding that there was only one way to gain the upper hand again – once they passed the border (a clearly-marked, thick black line with a ten-foot-high fence with barbed wire and guards) between verbal and physical.

She leaned forward, angling her upper body so that his view was better than usual and licked her lips before speaking again. "House, I – "

"Hey Lisa, I needed a – oh sorry. Am I interrupting?" Wilson stood there with more amusement on his face than in his voice _– if that were possible_ – a file in one hand and a permanently etched grin on his face. House's hand had ripped away from her elbow instantly, and she felt raw and exposed, like he had somehow managed to take the cloth and skin along with him. _Nothing but muscle and bone_.

"Of course not, Wilson." Her voice was calm again – as she took a moment to breathe and re-set the traps and give the guards a good talking to about abandoning their posts – her heart waffling between gratitude and annoyance. She barely knew what the hell she wanted anymore – how was she supposed to survive all of this?

"Not at all – now if you had of walked in here yesterday – that's a whole other story."

"Go away, House," she snapped – needing the time and space to just think in a linear line for one minute. He turned wounded eyes to her, and she growled before pressing her hand against his back and literally shoving him along ahead of her out the door.

"You know I could have had an actual job-related reason for – "

"Too bad you wasted your time then. Hope no one dies." She managed to scrape the words off her tongue, giving him one last mocking stare before shutting the door in his face and leaning against it – turning to Wilson, who was chuckling as he watched.

"You know that just encourages him, right?" Wilson looked at her intently for a moment before shaking his head. "Of course you do – it's why you do it."

She held a hand out and he blinked down at it in confusion as she sighed. "File, Wilson!" He started at her words, glancing down at the folder in his hands like he was seeing it for the first time.

"Sorry," he muttered, handing the file to her and following her over to her desk. "I need permission to use anaerobic bacteria on Madeline's tumour. It's not responding well to chemo – I'm thinking it might be oxygen poor – "

She was signing the approval form before he had even finished speaking, handing it back over her desk to him with a perfunctory smile. "It's fine. Go ahead. Anything else?" she queried brightly, and he looked down at her with a serious expression.

"What is going on with you and – "

"Anything else _besides_ that?" she cut him off, and he sighed, placing a hand on his hip as he stared at her.

"He's not talking to me about it," he pointed out, quite unnecessarily – if House was talking, Wilson wouldn't feel the need to pump her for info, would he? She wasn't entirely sure why – but the fact that despite his numerous threats, House was actually staying silent about their involvement caused a strange flare of a hope in her chest – pressing against her lungs until they burned.

"That's unfortunate. Maybe you should get him drunk and beat it out of him – I don't really care, Wilson." She waved a hand over the pile of paperwork scattered across her desk haphazardly. "I'm kind of busy – was there anything else?"

"No." Wilson stepped back – defeat was so much easier to gain with him, but the differences were a gaping chasm. Victory against Wilson felt flat and lifeless – a distinct lack of effort put in and given out. Victory against House – _when it happened_ – was like the most intense experience, a rush of endorphins to make up for the amount of blood and sweat lost in the battle itself. It left her high, breathless and trembling – and it was why she so willingly re-entered the fray again and again.

When she looked up again, Wilson had left already, and she sighed, glancing down at the paperwork in front of her. She had resigned herself long ago to the idea that she would never be able to stop this ascent with House. The higher they climbed, the harder they clung to the safety lines between them – they both had entirely too far to fall now. _We'd never survive._

* * *

She was not a jealous person – _I am not_. She had always had a limitless supply of confidence in herself – it had sustained her through medical school and her career – it had driven away more men than she could possibly count – and she didn't doubt her decisions once she made them.

Sometimes she would regret them – so much so that the weight of the regret alone should have dragged her down years ago – but she never doubted that her choices were needed. Necessary.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of House's latest tactics. He badgered her, insulted her, hated her and drew her to him against her will – but he had never ignored her. It was new, and while the first few days had been a blessed relief – she had been able to get so much done – it was now like listening to a nail being leisurely dragged along a chalkboard.

"Who's that?" She almost slammed her lunch tray next to Wilson's – just barely managing to switch it into a muffled thud instead. Her eyes were watching House eat lunch, laughing – _laughing_ – while listening to some tall brunette. _She couldn't have been a blonde?_

"Ah – " Wilson hedged, moving to the left to make room for her at his elbow as he shrugged. "Met her in a bar I think."

Panic moments were rare for Cuddy – but right now everything seemed to be bathed in the orange glow of flashing security lights, her mind trying to scream out warnings as she barrelled past at a break-neck speed.

All she could think about was that one week – the seven days that had existed between House literally running into Stacy outside a coffee shop and her living with him. At the time, she had shaken her head and warned House about the dangers of moving too fast. It hadn't really hurt until months later – like a muscle being worked out for the first time – it only hurt afterward, never during.

Why on earth would he screw everything up now? She was staring, she knew – and fuming – but she wouldn't admit to either. Up until this moment – everything had been fine. Things had been going well – temporarily at any rate.

"She's too tall."

"She's sitting down, how can you tell?" Wilson's voice was amused, and she shot him a glare that made him swallow his smile and shove a forkful of salad in his mouth.

"She looks tall," she muttered, stabbing a plastic spoon into her ice cream – _real, actual ice cream_ – which she was pretty sure she hadn't had in years.

"She could have really short legs." Wilson pointed out around a mouthful of food, and she licked the vanilla from her spoon and sighed.

"Stop making me justify my hate."

"Sorry." Except that he didn't really sound sorry at all. And now House was actually running a hand along the bimbo's arm, and Cuddy had to stare really hard at her sprinkles – counting each color (four red, fifteen pink, three green, seven blue, two yellow and five white) until she didn't feel the urge to carve a shiv out of her plastic utensil and go stab House in the neck with it.

"This isn't working," she sighed, and Wilson glanced over in confusion.

"Lunch? If you can call ice cream lunch, anyway. Didn't you get any actual food?"

"No, I didn't get actual food. I suddenly, inexplicably lost my appetite when I walked in," she ground out evenly, and Wilson shrugged, pulling a sympathetic wince as he did so.

"You know." He was mumbling around a mouthful of salad again and she sighed, putting her dessert down and snagging one of his fries as he swallowed. "If you two just stopped with all the games – "

"Hi, have you met House? Everything he does is a game, Wilson – maybe I should just take this as a sign. I have to move on at some point, right?" she mused as she stole another fry, frowning over the fact that Wilson didn't get ketchup – _who ate fries plain?_ – as she continued staring across the cafeteria.

"You _could_ do that." Wilson nodded as he pushed his empty plate aside and exchanged his fries for her ice cream. "_Or_ – and this is just a suggestion – you could just stop pretending that House's presence in your life is one giant bad judgement call and tell him you actually care. But what do I know?" Wilson scooped up a spoonful of the runny ice cream and she ate another fry instead of answering him. "Ignoring me doesn't help either."

"Shut up, I'm trying to think," she hissed out, her hands playing with the fries in front of her as her eyes searched the tables around them for stray ketchup packets.

"Uh huh. Well think quick – here he comes." Wilson's words caused her to snap back to attention, cursing under her breath as House strolled past with the gigantic brunette behind hm. "Oh – so not short legs." Wilson whistled under his breath and she kicked him under the table just because she could. He yelped and leaned back.

"Wilson – have you met Lara? Lara this is my good friend James Wilson." House ignored her – more – as the giant leaned over the table and shook Wilson's hand, giving him (and her) an eyeful of cleavage as she did so. Cuddy narrowed her eyes as she glared.

"Nice to meet you." To her credit, at least the giant didn't _sound _like a raging psychopath – her voice was pleasant but it's effect was lost on Cuddy. "And this is..." The Giant had turned her eyes to Cuddy now, and House sighed heavily before making introductions.

"This is my boss. Dr. Cuddy – but we just call her Satan." He finally introduced her and when Lara held out a hand, Cuddy just stared at it blankly. Surely the Giant didn't think she would _shake_ it...

"Well – nice to meet you, Dr. Cuddy. I'm sure it must be a handful being the boss of Greg." The small (almost miniscule at this point) rational part of Cuddy's brain was trying desperately to convince her that the Giant hadn't really meant that the way it sounded. However, Cuddy wasn't paying attention to it anymore – or anything really except the red hot rage that was pulsing behind her eyes, like a flickering drive-in movie projected against the backs of her retinas.

"Oh, it's a joy," she ground out as Wilson choked beside her and House stared down at her with a grin.

"Oh – well I just meant – " The Giant was stammering now and Cuddy glared past her – her eyes zeroing in on House, trying to mentally will him into spontaneous combustion, already picturing the macabre image of him writhing in agony as flesh sizzled and hissed. It would hurt. _That was kind of the point_.

"Don't you have a patient?" she snapped out at House, mentally filing away the vision for a later date – when she needed the homicidal relief.

"I do." He nodded pleasantly as she glared. "Chase and Cameron are doing his MRI right now. Should have the results by the time I get back from lunch."

Cuddy opened her mouth – but in the face of a suddenly polite, practically normal House, anything she could have said would have made her sound like a shrew. And while the description was acute at the moment – she didn't need to highlight the fact.

"Cuddy?" Wilson was leaning over her shoulder in concern, and she blinked – realizing that everyone was staring at her. She sagged backwards slightly – allowing Wilson's shoulder to support part of her weight as she blinked down at the Formica table-top, wondering if she slammed her head against it just right – could she just pass out?

"Sorry," she muttered in an aside to Wilson, who simply nodded and braced his own hand against the table to support the extra weight.

"Oh – are you two a couple?!" The Giant was exclaiming this in a high falsetto and Cuddy cringed – joined by Wilson, and House – and wondered if a double date invite was coming next.

"Friends," Wilson spoke hastily – almost tripping over the words. "We're – _all_ – " He glared from House to Cuddy and back again. "– friends."

"Oh."

"And as lovely as this is – I need to get back to work." House spoke with regret and Cuddy choked on the fry she had just eaten, causing Wilson to pat her back awkwardly.

"Oh my god!" she burst out while still fighting for a breath, and everyone turned to her with concern. "I'm fine," she managed to put out weakly, grabbing Wilson's water bottle – she had nothing because ice cream didn't require a drink – and unscrewing the cap and taking a swallow.

"Alright," Wilson said awkwardly, and she wondered if holes could actually just _appear_ in the ground _– if so, now would be a great time._

"Have a good day." House spoke cheerfully, placing something on the table before taking the Giant's elbow and moving away from them.

"It was nice to meet you!" She was calling over her shoulder, but Cuddy didn't respond, because she was staring at the three ketchup packets House had placed in the middle of the table.

"And..." Wilson dragged out the word in her ear, "they're gone." She let her head fall forward into her hands, pressing the weight of it against her palms as she moaned. "Are you alright?"

She straightened up, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head. "This isn't happening."

"What isn't happen – "

"He thinks he won. He is not winning." She was muttering and Wilson stared at her helplessly.

"Are you going to tell him – "

"I am not _telling_ him anything," she ground out, glaring at him until he fell silent. "I am going to _destroy _him."


	5. Dive In

A/N: Happy Tuesday all! As usual, Alias owns my soul and is the fritsause to my fries, and reviews are the crack I need to keep me strung out and writing. Everything is better when you're high.

* * *

"Where are you going?" She dropped the handful of files into the tray at the clinic desk and turned to look at House – who was signing out with a child-like glee.

"I am going home. I have a da– "

"No you're not. Didn't you get my memo?" She cut him off joyously, smiling as she leaned her briefcase against the counter as she pulled on her suit coat.

"I never read your memos," he pointed out with a roll of his eyes, and she kept her smile pinned in place – pulling the sides of her jacket tighter together just to stop herself from dancing in victory.

"Well, that's sad – maybe you should. You need to stay and finish up your billings for the first quarter. You're three quarters behind and if you don't hand in that paperwork in time for the quarterly report – tomorrow," she added helpfully with a smile, "you'll be making another trip to Baltimore to defend yourself to Medicaid. And the only lawyer available is Lester."

"You're joking." He was staring at her in shock and she shook her head calmly, wishing she could commit the look on his face right now to memory as she slipped the buttons on her jacket closed.

"No." She shook her head and walked toward the exit, with him right behind her.

"I'm not doing it." He was chasing her now and she ground to a halt, causing him to run into her at high speed. She turned quickly, grabbing the front of his shirt before he could fall backwards. Once he was righted, she let go, stepping back right away.

"Yes you are," she stated simply. "Otherwise you'll be paying back Medicaid for years."

"Fine. But this is in lieu of the clinic – "

"Oh, no it isn't." She laughed, looking up at him with a grin. "The clinic is a separate matter. This is just something you have to do if you want to continue practising medicine. Have a good night, House." She didn't wait for his answer. She was outside and on the sidewalk when he caught up with her again.

"What? Not going to stand over my shoulder with a pitchfork, reaping the fruits of your evil labours?" She didn't slow down, moving over to her car and pulling her keys from her briefcase.

"Nope," she responded briefly, shoving the keys into the door and unlocking it with a vicious twist. She tossed her case onto the passenger side and turned to face him, one hand still on the doorframe. "It's your ass if you don't do it, House. Not mine."

"Where are you off to in such a rush? Normally inflicting this much pain in one go is too good to miss." He nodded as he spoke, his voice lifting to a sneer on the end as she sighed.

"I have a date."

"A date."

"A date," she confirmed, sliding behind the wheel and starting the car as she stretched her arm out to the door handle. "Have fun, House." She smirked as she shut the door before he could speak – it spread into a wide grin as she pulled out of the parking lot, watching him glare at her taillights like he was planning her demise.

Her smile slid a fraction before returning fully_. I'll just check the car over in the mornings._

* * *

She stared into her water – watching the small ripples flowing through it as he droned on and on about his ex-wife. _Mental note: no more divorcees._ Of course – she couldn't blame the entirety of her boredom on his – _Clive? Clarke ?... oh great _– dinner conversation. There was also the fact that he was wearing a pink tie – with a green shirt, and his hair was thinning – _and possibly combed ove__r_ – and his eyes were a pale grey with little to no life in them.

_Unlike a certain other pair of_– Oh shut the hell up!

"What?" He was blinking at her owlishly – and she stared back, confused.

"What?"

"You said shut the hell up," he pointed out mildly, and Cuddy hesitated. She had a few options at the moment – she could say, yes, she had said that – _take__ your__ Bitchiest of the Bitches crown_– and go home. She could deny it, and then spend the next few hours – _four at least, it's four don't pretend you aren't counting _– listening to him go on about how horrible his divorce was (_and really who the hell talks about that on a first date?_) or she could say nothing and probably look like she was insane. _Which you are_.

"God!" she burst out, and he jumped across from her, causing her to smile apologetically. "Sorry. I'm just not – " _Right in the head. Over my ex-lover who happens to be my current lover all over again. Interested in you at all. As in end of the world, procreation rests on us, fuck that not __i__nterested._ " – feeling very well. I am so sorry."

"Would you like me to take you home?" He was already rising, putting cash on the table and ushering her out of her seat before she had a chance to even nod. She looked away with guilt as his hand brushed her elbow and kept looking away all through the drive home. She knew she would promise she'd call him – _with no intention of follow__-__through, your specialty_– and never pick up the phone. Which was sad, because now he was asking if she was sure she felt alright – and it could have been that eggplant, and was she sure she'd be alright?

The concern and questions – _and guilt, never forget tha__t _– followed her all the way up to her front door, where she stood awkwardly, trying to appease him without actually having to touch him. A difficult task at best.

"Thanks so much for dinner." She didn't add his name – she still couldn't remember. Her head was beginning to ache from the combination of his voice and her own thoughts, which were sounding more and more like –

"So. This was your '_business meeting_' was it?" She couldn't even speak – just stare in shock at her now-open front door, where House – _oh thank God_ – stood, glaring at her accusingly. He had no shoes on, and even had a dishtowel over his shoulder – _I didn't know he knew what those were_ – for effect.

"Uh, I'm sorry – " Whatshisname stammered as House continued to glare at her and ignore him.

"God, Lisa – I mean I get that you're pissed at me, but to take him to _our home_?"

"I'm sorry." She was the one apologizing now, and both men looked at her with varying degrees of shock. She bit her lip as a plan formed and grew in her mind. The fact that she would be labelled an utter bitch by Clive or whatever the hell his name was didn't faze her in the least. "I'm sorry, Greg – I was just pissed at you and I thought I could do it, but I felt bad." She reached out for House's arm as she spoke, her fingers brushing against the skin there – warm and alive underneath her fingertips.

"You can't just say you're sorry every time – "

"I know. But you drove me crazy and I lashed out." As Cuddy spoke, his eyes were on hers, intent and searching and her heart stuttered slightly from the absolute lack of lies in her words. "You shouldn't have done that– "

"It didn't mean anything." His voice was lower now and neither of them was looking at Cliff or Clive. She inched forward, her hand tightening on his arm.

"Nothing happened, I swear."

"Oh my God you're _married_?!" They turned to the previously ignored man on the porch, and she frowned until her eyes drifted down and she saw that House was indeed sporting a wedding band. "I am – oh, this is just _typical_!" He was glaring at her venomously as he moved forward a step. "You bitches are all the same – "

House had stepped past her, his face serious and his eyes pinning Cliff or Clive down ruthlessly. "You might want to re-think how you speak about a man's wife in front of him." His tone was almost conversational. Almost – except for a certain amount of silkiness to it as he leaned down into the other man's face. She reached out, grasping the cotton of House's shirt before pulling him back behind her as she shoved him into the house.

"Sorry," she apologized brightly and not very sincerely as she closed the front door and locked it with a resounding thud. Silence fell on the foyer and she didn't look up from where her head rested against the door.

"So either_ that_ was the worst date you've ever had – including the time I took you to that Steak house even though you told me you were a vegetarian – or I slipped, hit my head and woke up in an alternate universe." His voice was smug and she sighed in frustration as she glared at the door – wishing her gaze alone could incinerate the wood in front of her. _Attack. Don't let him keep the upper hand._

"So tell me, did your mother cry?" She turned to him finally, and he blinked at her non sequitur. "Did I wear white? How was the food – oh, where did we go for our honeymoon?" Her voice was teasing, and he arched a brow before leaning forward with a lecherous grin.

"We didn't make it out of the hotel room of course, Cuddles. You were saving yourself – turned out you had quite a bit of change left over." She hit him in exasperation, her hand connecting with his chest first and then his hand as he brought it up to hold hers in place. She sighed, licking her lips and rubbing a finger over the gold band.

"Where on earth did you get – "

"Wilson."

She toed her shoes off as she listened, dropping a few inches and almost losing her balance, but his hand held onto hers and helped her remain standing. "Oh – well it's about time you two kids admitted your love for each other. Was it a commitment ceremony? Civil union? Or did you go to Canada?"

"More like I stole it, and he probably will never miss it."

"And you're the same ring size – match made in heaven." She was being deliberately harsh as she attempted to step back, but his hand held her there – pinned her like a kite-string as she fluttered helplessly in the breeze.

"Was it that bad?" He was changing the subject and she stopped struggling, crashing to the earth with a sigh.

"Yes. It was horrible. Are you happy?" She ground the words out from where she stood, and he let go of her suddenly, causing her to press a hand to the wall to maintain support.

"No." His answer was simple – bare, with no hidden tones or appearance of subterfuge. And it scared her more than anything else in the world. She stood straight, shoving a hand through her hair as she pulled her coat off and stepped around him. He followed her footsteps as she entered her living room.

"You never are," she muttered as she walked, and suddenly his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back swiftly. She would have fallen if he had pulled her in any other direction – as it was, he yanked her to him, and she felt the shock of contact running through her like waves of electric current. _Caught in the power lines now, little kite._ "House – "

"You shouldn't have gone out with him, Cuddy. We both know why you did – " His words were heated as they poured through the air to settle and hum in her ears. She could feel her hand shaking as she listened – shaking so hard she had to attempt to push him away three times before her brain would cooperate and fire the appropriate synapses.

"Really? We do? And what about you and your Amazonian wonder?" She was hissing – spitting the words out like hot oil jumping from her lips.

"It didn't mean anything," he spoke, repeating his earlier words – his voice far too level for her liking. Her anger flared – it was an out-of-control fire and he was attempting to smother it. Her body was tense – her shoulders and arms stiff from holding herself at a distance within his arms. He tugged her closer, wrapping one arm around her stiff form as he dragged her nearer. When he spoke again, his mouth was so close to her that she could feel the scratch of his stubble just below her jaw line. "Frankly, she was annoying as hell. Had a laugh like a helium-filled hyena."

She paused for a second, and then two before a low laugh escaped her and she fell forward from the force of it. His own hands pressed into her lower back, catching her as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "God, what is wrong with us?"

"Hey. Speak for yourself." His voice rumbled through his chest and she closed her eyes, turning her head so that she could feel the sensation all the way to her toes.

"Are you ever going to stop?" Her fingers were wandering, sliding up his back until they met the skin at the back of his neck. She had to push the dishtowel aside to reach it – and her fingers traced unseen patterns there, moving along the skin and running into the edge of his hairline over and over.

"Never surrender," he quipped, and she stilled from the impact of his words. _Never surrender._And yet – at times, surrender was the best tactical plan. She gives in, he gets what he wants. And if there was one thing she knew damn well – it was that once the challenge was gone, House lost interest. _Stop being a challenge._ It was simplistically brilliant. If she kept him at arm's length for much longer, she was in danger of becoming – more attached than she already was. He didn't love her – and she didn't love him – _yet._Surrender, and he loses interest. Surrender and she could survive him somewhat intact. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she lifted her head, meeting his eyes.

"What if I want to?" She breathed the words out, afraid to give them volume and weight. A hypothetical question with a very real consequence. He stilled, the room went quiet until not even the air seemed to be circulating around them. She felt like she had been waiting forever – but it wasn't nearly that long before his hands pressed her forward and his mouth met hers.

It took her breath away. She couldn't even think – only feel, as her mouth opened under his and she clutched at his hair and skin as she felt overcome. Once, when she had been small, she had run through a field in the rain. Lightning had reached down, scorching a tree across the field, and she had fallen down in her shock. She had knelt, hands and knees in the mud as she had stared at the sight before her – bright blue current had given way to a brighter flame that had greedily licked at the wood, and for a moment the air itself had seemed so charged – feeding the fire in a frenzy that defied the torrential rain around it. She had never felt anything like it in her life. Until now.

His hands were in her hair now, and she was being consumed, she knew. There was something there, in his lips and fingers and tongue that had never been there before. Her body arched toward his, and she felt the room spin. Deep down, she knew what it was. Deep down, she knew that even when he let go and the room stopped tilting on its axis – it would never right itself in quite the same way. Her hands scrambled to strip him as bare as he already metaphorically was. His tongue pressed against hers, and she could taste scotch and mint and truth.

When his skin pressed against hers, pressed her down into the wooden slats of her floor, she recognized the flaw in her plan. It was too late to save herself from him. _It always had been._ She met his eyes, drowning in the blue as she lay back and burst into flame.


	6. Speak Like You

A/N: Hey all! Just a quick note to say thanks as usual to alias424 for being the most amazing beta ever in life - and also to let you know I won't be updating again until April 1st - snce my family and I are going on vacation to Egypt over the next two weeks. Enjoy!

* * *

She was subtle – well, she could be, if she wanted to. But this was her hospital. Her building. Her walls, her floors, her boring tiled ceilings, her cranky janitors, her gossiping nurses, her annoying doctors, her whiney patients. Everything in this building belonged to her. _My chair. My clinic desk. My __waiting room._ She had every right to be here. Sitting, no – _taking __my__ break_ – wherever the hell she felt like it. No one – _and by no one __you__ mean House_ – could find any fault whatsoever in her right to be in this very spot, at this very second.

Watching as a screaming twenty-month-old, its face scrunched up in extreme outrage, fisted blood-red (an all-over color the infant had acquired upon being subjected to the exam room) hands into House's hair as he bent to vaccinate the child and pulled with all its might. Which was apparently considerable, considering the look crossing House's face and the young mother's flushed attempts at an apology.

House sat up, once he had disengaged the child's hands from his hair, and looked around suspiciously. Cuddy gasped and scooted lower in her chair until she couldn't see over the desk, her heart beating a loud tattoo against her chest. She waited a beat, then two, breathing quietly, only to jump when someone spoke right next to her.

"He knows you're out here." Brenda's voice was a dry intrusion, crisp and crumbling in its scathing, like dry toast being shoved into your mouth. Cuddy simply sat – waiting for the saliva to kick in – and glared at her erstwhile nurse in a –_hopefully-_ scary manner. "You seem to be in a good mood." Brenda swivelled her chair toward Cuddy as she spoke, the wheels squeaking as she inched just a bit closer.

"I _was_," Cuddy ground out, pulling her chair closer to the desk as she risked another peek over it. The infant was gone now -_a shame-_ and replaced by a grinning girl who looked to be about six and was clearly a _very_ good talker, from the speed at which her mouth was moving. House was simply sitting there, one hand shoved in his coat pocket -_clutching pills no doubt-_ and the other cradling his head as he glared at his shoes. All of which the girl ignored, legs swinging from side to side as she continued to speak.

"You know, if you hang out here all day, he will eventually see you. He does bring back charts. Sometimes." Brenda sounded amused as she continued signing the paperwork in front of her, not looking up once.

"My hospital. My chair. And I'm on my break!" Cuddy whispered back, causing Brenda to glance around for the eavesdroppers who weren't there.

Brenda chuckled, the sound low and dark as she shook her head. "Okay, first – that made no sense. Second, you've been 'on your break' for almost an hour, thirdly you weren't even scheduled today. You had a day off. A _day off._" Brenda eyed her with something akin to sympathy as she tsked lightly and drummed her pen on the desk top. "This is not what you should be doing."

Cuddy opened her mouth before closing it just as rapidly. It shouldn't be what she did on her day off – but she found herself gripped with an odd desire to see him. They hadn't really talked about anything that had happened two weeks ago – but every few nights he would show up at her place with take-out, and she would let him in. And not let him out again until morning. He always kept breaking her record. She kept a tally – every hour of every day she managed to get through without touching him. It had been so good at first – _ninety hours, eighty-two, sixty-three, forty_. It was sad – how small the number had become. And the last time it hadn't even been him, knocking on her door with a good salad and a twisted smirk that he imagined passed as charming. It had been her, scratching at his door with no excuse at all and a fever she couldn't seem to quite kill.

If it was only the sex, she wouldn't be so upset about it. But it wasn't the sex. It wasn't the myriad of touches, punctuated by moans with a cadence of harsh breathing. It was the stillness afterwards, when he held her close, and he didn't mock and she didn't bitch – they breathed together in the sudden lack of sound – his hand pressed into her hip and her ear against his chest as his heart provided a baseline for the silence's refrain.

She longed for him – his skin next to hers and his hands stroking idly across her back until it felt like more than his epidermal cells on hers, more than sexual energy harnessed in a hand span – it felt like love. _You idiot_. She closed her eyes and felt the blood drain from her face, all under Brenda's watchful eye.

"Uh huh." Brenda finally spoke when it became obvious Cuddy wouldn't – or couldn't. She stood, taking the files with her as she muttered, "Look who's finally waking up." Cuddy didn't get a chance to chastise her as she placed her forehead against the desk, waiting for the light-headedness to recede and rational thought to rush in, taking over the space where her brain used to be. But there was no rational thought, only irrational panic, her heart racing as her mouth went suddenly dry.

"Oh God, I need help," she moaned before pushing herself up and sliding out from behind the desk. Her hand hit the stack of files next to her wrist. It swayed once, and then twice before sliding over in a landslide of paper and plastic, clattering loudly to the ground. She froze, feeling eyes on her – _his eyes on her _–as she crouched and fumbled with the mess she had created.

"Go, I've got it." Brenda was at her side in an instant – a dark angel of mercy, allowing Cuddy to rise slowly and turn purposefully toward the exit. She didn't look back, and once she got out of the doors, she ran to her car.

* * *

"I am going out of mind. Insane. Insanely insane – I mean, do you know what I just _realized_?" She pushed past a confused-looking Wilson, who was standing by his front door, yawning and watching her pace his hotel room with sleepy eyes.

"I don't suppose it was the realization that if you barge into a friend's place before noon, you should always bring coffee?" He yawned again, ignoring her nervous pacing and crawling back across his bed to wrap himself in blankets.

"Coffee – God, Wilson it's almost noon! You're always at work on time, what the hell?" She stopped pacing long enough to glare at the blanket cocoon on the bed before striding over to his windows and jerking the curtains open, allowing the sun to stream in.

A muffled groan came from the sheets, and she opened the window too, just to let air in. He rolled over to glare at her, one baleful brown eye staring at her from a crack in the cocoon. "It's my day off," he grumbled, his voice muffled as his eye disappeared from view, lost in a sea of unremarkable bed sheets. "Normal people sleep in on their days off. They do not get up early to stalk unsuspecting employees."

"Oh my God, he _called_ you? I am going to kill him!" She grabbed one of the blankets and jerked it off the bed, twisting it in her hands as she pictured House's mottled face above it, gasping for air.

"Who? I meant _me, _Cuddy. God. And don't kill my sheets please." He sat up again, leaning heavily on the edge of the bed as he rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'll be right back." He disappeared into the washroom as she stared, her face flushed as she repressed her desire to bang her head on the nearest available surface. Her fingers twitched with nervous energy as she waited, so she made his bed, anything to occupy some small segment of her mind.

"You know, I do believe they pay maids for that. More specifically, I pay maids for that, considering how much I pay to live in this hellhole." He was muttering as he grabbed two bottles of water from the mini fridge and steered her toward the sofa, forcing her to sit before he sat next to her.

"Sorry." Her apology was weak, and she took the water gratefully, draining almost half the bottle before she stopped to breathe.

"So," he stated, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared at her thoughtfully. "You were up early stalking House. And something's been going on with you two – don't deny it – that thing with whatshername and you in the cafeteria. That? Was strange."

She sighed as she listened, rolling the half empty bottle of water in her hands as she struggled not to run. _No running_. "I don't know, Wilson. House is – he's just so – " She growled in frustration, dropping one hand to pull it though her hair as she moved to the edge of her seat.

"House?" Wilson provided helpfully. "He's irritating and selfish and exasperating. Caustic and bitter and he loves to inflict pain, which is amusing enough, when you're not his target. He's egotistical and refuses to believe anyone is right but him." She nodded as he spoke, snorting in some places and closing her eyes and shaking her head at others. "But," Wilson continued gently, "he's loyal. And he cares, and sometimes – sometimes, you know exactly why you love him. And you can't help it."

She froze at his words, smiling nervously – incredulously in a _you can't be serious_ manner. "What? Wilson..."

"Oh, you'll deny it, and God knows he does – but if you think I don't see it, you really are insane."

"I do." She spoke softly, and mostly to the water bottle in her hand as she frowned fiercely at it.

"See? I knew you'd – wait, what?" He leaned forward and grinned. "You do? That's great!"

''It is not great!" she spat out angrily as her hands clenched around the neck of the bottle. "It is so far from great I can't even begin to – he's my employee. My employee who irritates me _so much_ I went into therapy. Do you know what my therapist told me, Wilson? He told me to resign, and start over – away from '_unhealthy ongoing relationships'_, which of course means House because other than my mother, he's the only 'ongoing relationship' I'm cursed to have!" As she spoke, she stood again, pacing in front of the couch they had been seated on as he watched her with sympathy written all over his face.

"It's not that bad. I mean – yes you fight, but I think you could be good for him – "

"And is he good for me?" Her question was a whisper, barely discernable above his voice, but he fell silent at it all the same. Finally he stood as well, crossing the floor and taking her hands.

"In an odd, more than twisted way – yes. Cuddy, you give everything away – your time, your energy – you give it all to a building that can't give back. House is selfish – and at least he'll force you to be that way too – even if it's only for thirty minutes, or an hour – he'll force you to stop thinking and just be. And yes, you _do_ need that."

She stared at him for a beat before choking out a laugh that turned into a sob halfway through, and he pulled her into a hug that was utterly undemanding and completely comforting. One sob turned into two, and three – choking sounds, not really tears – it felt more like shocked disbelief had lodged in her throat until it was raw. Wilson held her, making soothing noises and patting her shoulder awkwardly.

"Hey, come on – it could be worse." His voice was teasing as she pulled back once her breathing was under control.

"I don't see how." She spoke in a low, defeated voice and he chuckled.

"Well, I could sleep in the nude."


End file.
